


Can't Remember, Can't Forget

by The Bald Unicorn (KokoroJunnayai)



Category: Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja
Genre: 5+1 Things, Amnesia, Friendship, Gen, Post-High School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-05 14:53:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14621034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KokoroJunnayai/pseuds/The%20Bald%20Unicorn
Summary: It's the year out of high school and Randy is something - disappointed, bored, restless, maybe. College is nothing like he thought it'd be. Although, he's not sure what he's comparing it to, since he really doesn't remember much of high school.He's been told that's fairly normal – especially if your high school experience sucked (and he has it on good authority that his did, thanks Howard).Still, though. Some parts of it are starting to nag at him.(or 5 times Randy didn't remember high school and 1 time he did)





	1. Chapter 1

i.

 

It's the year out of high school and Randy is...something. Disappointed, maybe?

 

Yeah. The empty, shallow feeling he breathes out everyday must be disappointment. It was inevitable, he supposes. After so much hype and romanticizing from movies and shows and teachers, anyone would feel confused at the end of high school.

There are four intense years leading up to it – and it turns out, all 'it' is is a short walk in a gown and a paper shoved into your hands. If graduating high school isn't the height of disappointment, Randy doesn't know what is.

Well. College. Randy hadn't known what he wanted to do – seems like he probably should've thought of that during four years of high school – but that doesn't matter too much, he's found.

His mom is satisfied with him taking 'the basics' for a year at Norrisville Community College. It's like high school, except no one tells him what to do. Teachers in college don't care if he passes or fails – they are so chill that it's starting to worry him.

 

Too many things are starting to worry him.

 

The thing is, Randy doesn't remember much of high school. He's been told that's fairly normal – especially if your high school experience sucked (and he has it on good authority that his did, thanks Howard).

 

Still, though. Some parts of it nag at him.

 

"Hey. Did we ever meet the Ninja?" He asks Howard one day, the two of them playing grave puncher 8 in Howard's dorm room.

Because he knows about the Ninja; everyone does. You can't live in Norrisville for more than a year and _not_ know about the Ninja.

He and Howard had been Ninja's number one fans – Randy remembers that – and they'd had such great plans to get to know him in high school. He thinks he even made the Ninja a fan blog, or something.

 

And yet –

 

"But we couldn't have met him, right? I would remember that, at least." He muses aloud.

 

Howard doesn't say anything right away.

 

Howard has never really been a hide-your-emotions kind of guy – he doesn't have enough shame for that, honestly. Something strong is shinning through his face, bright and clear, but Randy isn't sure what it is.

 

Maybe....He thinks. Maybe it's sadness?

 

He's never really seen it on Howard's face before, not like this, so he can't be sure.

 

Although, ever since Randy had told Howard about not remembering much of high school, Howard has looked like this.....

 

Sad.

 

He looks sad now.

 

"No, we met the Ninja." He says. He doesn't look Randy in the eye. "He...saved me. More than once."

 

"So. What, you met him without me?" Randy says. It's his first thought, however improbable the idea that his best friend had done something without him – or even more unlikely, that he'd done something without Randy and it's never even occurred to him to tell Randy about it.

 

"You – you met him a couple of times, too. You probably don't remember because of all the monster attacks. Oh and robot attacks. And monster robot attacks."

 

Howard can be weird sometimes.

 

Randy has the mental focus of a squirrel though, and his mind is already jumping back to his next college class and the essay he needs to do for it. He's already let go of this odd, dubious sticking point for his memory of high school.

 

These things are beginning to worry him, but not much. Especially not when he shoves it to the back of his mind, jams it down as far as it will go, and slams a lid on it.

 

"Huh." Randy says absently, trying to remember the essay's prompt. "Guess the Ninja wasn't really that memorable, then."

 

Thirty seconds later, Howard actually lets his player character die, sets down his controller, and says in his most solemn voice, usually reserved only for chili fries and new game releases,

 

"Ninja was – _is_ awesome, Cunningham. He's one of the best people I have ever met. He saved my cheese so many times that I–I wouldn't be here, if not for him."

 

Howard's face is doing that thing again, where he looks the opposite of angry. The 'sad' thing.

It's weirding Randy out.

 

"Okay," he says, holding his hands up in surrender. "You met the Ninja, and he was awesome. Sure. Whatever. I just – thought it was wonk that I couldn't remember it."

 

"Yeah." Howard sighs. "It is. It's really bumming me out, too."

 

"Sorry, bro." Randy wonders how he can cheer him up. "You wanna go get some nachos?"

 

Howard smiles at him. The sad look is fading away.

 

"Yeah. Let's go get some nachos."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I'm trying this 5+1 thing. This story takes place after Randy has graduated high school, so he's mindwiped himself and passed the mantle of Ninja on to another freshman. 
> 
> I still wanted a little bit of Ninja left in him, though, so Randy can feel something is missing, even if he's not sure what it is


	2. Chapter 2

ii.

 

It's the year after high school, and Randy is bored. He can't think of why.

 

He's doing almost everything he used to do – he plays video-games with Howard, hangs out with other freshmen on NCC campus, does his homework, etc. After years of this, he doesn't quite understand why boredom is happening _now_.

 

It's not college. At least, Randy doesn't _think_ it's college. Community college barely even counts as college, right? And he really is loving the drastic lowering of standards and rules. It's awesome. It's true freedom.

 

Maybe it's all this new energy he has. It feels like high school had been sucking all the energy out of him and now that he's left, he has more than enough to spare. It's just – it's _there_.

He starts running, to burn it off. He lifts weights too, sometimes. He jumps hurdles. He swims. It's never something he'd thought would happen, but he's become intimately familiar with the campus's gym. Randy just feels so _wide awake_ , some days. Like there's something big he should be out doing.

Howard won't do any of this with him, of course – _dainty hands_ is his excuse, although how that hinders running is beyond Randy – but he doesn't look at Randy strange when he finds out about this sudden exercise.

Despite a reluctance to say anything, Randy couldn't help Howard from finding out. He can't fathom how to hide a new hobby from someone you spend all your time with. There's no way. Plus, Randy has learned by now that he is a total shoob at lying to Howard.

 

None of it mattered, anyway. Howard didn't find it weird.

 

“It's good for you and all that nonsense, right?” He'd shrugged. “Besides, it's only wonk if you _enjoy_ it.”

 

Randy hasn't told him that he does. He does enjoy his muscles burning and his breath bursting in his lungs – he likes devoting his all to something physical.

 

Randy also hasn't mentioned that recently, exercise too has began to bore him.

 

“You ever think,” He says carefully one day, “that there's something we should be doing?”

Randy is draped over Howard's bed, head dangling near the floor, while Howard lays stomach-down at the other end, face in his hand. Somedays they just sit in the same room and watch videos or check snapchat on their own phones, not saying a word to each other.

 

Randy isn't sure why – as his mom likes to say, what's the point of hanging out together if they don't talk – but he supposes after so long doing _everything_ together, it's harder to come up with a reason to spend time alone.

 

Howard doesn't look up from his phone at Randy's question.

 

“What, like our homework?” He asks. “Wait, I don't think I have any homework this week.”

 

“Lucky.” Randy mutters. He's staring at the ceiling, hands folded across his chest, phone placed underneath them. “No, I just meant...don't you ever feel like you're forgetting to do something _important_? Like there's a movie you were supposed to watch or a job you forgot to quit?”

 

Randy can feel his friend tense on the bed. He wonders if Howard remembered he actually _does_ have homework this week.

 

“I dunno, Cunningham. Why? Is there something _you_ forgot to do?” Howard brushes the topic back to Randy so easily, he doesn't even notice.

 

“I...I think there is.” Randy says, squinting at nothing.

 

Howard doesn't tell him he's crazy. Howard doesn't ask what it is that's been forgotten. Instead Howard nods, like that's a normal feeling everyone gets, and the feeling doesn't dwindle, exactly, but Randy does feel better. Vindicated.

 

“I'm sure you'll figure it out, Cunningham.”

 

Maybe. Randy still feels bored, feels – _unfulfilled –_ but he closes his eyes and lets Howard's words encourage him.

 

“I'm sure I will.” He murmurs.

 

* * *

 

 

Randy can't breathe.

 

They're walking to their dorm. It's late at night, later than they realized, and he and Howard's argument of Buffy vs. Wonder Woman has blinded him to that fact for the last couple blocks.

 

Somehow, striding confidently under street lights had put Randy's instincts at ease. But they shouldn't have been.

 

It is really _really_ late.

 

Randy's eyes only open when he hears the screaming. There's faint thumps, like blows being exchanged, coming from the alley across the street. He can hear a young girl shriek – in anger or fear or both.

 

Everything in him freezes solid.

 

He hears the sounds of a struggle, he feels the cool night air, he catches a glimpse of something metal in the moonlight – but all of that seems far away. Distant.

 

Randy finds he can't breathe, can't think. At first, he marvels at how much of a coward he is. Then it hits – this wave of emotion flooding him out to sea isn't fear.

 

It's _courage_.

 

Howard has stopped behind him. He has just enough time to say,

 

“Uh, Cunningham, I don't think –”

 

Then Randy is throwing his bag at Howard and sprinting across the street without looking back. There are no cars because it's so late and it's only seconds before he skids into the alley.

They haven't spotted him. He isn't breathing hard or making much noise and _they_ are making an incredible racket.

It's a man, classic ski mask tugged over his face, yanking at a large purse in a girl's hands. The girl – looks Randy's ageish – looks downright _furious_ ; she grips one handle impossibly tight, smacks the robber repeatedly with her other hand, and oh, wow, Randy spots the dropped pepper spray rolling away from her.

 

Unfortunately, the man is bigger. He's already punched her several times. He also has a knife he's trying to pull out and scare her with.

 

Randy moves and the world _slows_.

 

He sees;

 

The knife finally slipping free of the man's belt.

 

His own legs pumping beneath him.

 

The girl's eyes widening in fear.

 

The ground and sky switching as he ducks and rolls, arm outstretched.

 

Both figures blinking, turning slightly.

 

Suddenly everything snaps back into normal time.

He jumps up smoothly with abandoned pepper spray in hand like he's practiced that roll on concrete in front of a mugger _thousands_ of times.

It feels _right_. It feels _good_.

There's a manic grin on his face as he fires the spray into each of the man's eyes. He doesn't wonder about how he knows to use pepper spray – he chalks it up to being easy to use.

 

“I think that belongs to her.” He says, feeling so _comfortable_ and _in his element_ that he doesn't want this to end. “Besides, I don't think you wanna mix that purse with those boots.”

 

The man screams in pain and lets the other strap go to clutch at his eyes. He steps forward, unstable, or maybe just stumbles, but suddenly Randy's body flings into action and round-house kicks him into the wall.

 

“What the hell...” He moans, blood trickling from underneath his mask.

 

Later, Randy will think that too. Right now, Randy's heart can only think, _finally_. He can only feel so very alive. This is what he's been missing, somehow.

 

This feeling – this _significance._ It's not enough that he was physical, that he exercised, he needed _meaning_ to it. Maybe he even needed the violence.

 

Still, he can't regret it, not if the fighting helps someone.

 

It's only a few more seconds before the mugger is stumbling down the alley away from both girl and Randy, shaking and cursing as he goes.

 

That guy won't be bothering anyone else tonight.

 

 

“W-who are you?” The girl asks him after a minute, a tremor in her hands as she tugs her purse close.

 

Randy watches her flinch and some of his happiness trickles away. He holds up the spray to hand it back to her.

 

The girl steps back, afraid. Afraid of...Randy? That's a sobering idea.

 

He rolls the pepper spray along the ground so that it bumps her tennis shoes gently, and he tries to smile at her.

 

“You should probably report that guy to the police.” He advises, voice soft. “I'm just gonna...go check on my friend. Over – over there.”

 

It's late and there's not many reasons for this girl to trust Randy, not after she's just been attacked. Randy finds that he can't hold it against her.

 

Yet, he's compelled to ask.

 

“Do you need anymore help?”

 

She glances from him, across the street to the extremely non-threatening looking Howard.

 

“Can...” She swallows. “Can I just walk with you guys? Just for a little ways? I...”

 

She doesn't finish.

 

Instead, she edges around the – the, oh _man,_ there's a little bit of _blood_ on the concrete – and flees to the sidewalk. Randy goes with her willingly.

 

He expects to have to explain himself to Howard. This is...it's _different_ . In high school, Randy is fairly certain he was – not self-absorbed, exactly, but he knows he was a little self-involved. He hadn't gone out of his way to help kids being bullied. He hadn't been the 'hero type'. He'd been focused on himself, which isn't _terrible_ , but it isn't great either.

 

Howard sighs at the pair as they hustle across the street. Randy expects yelling, he expects demands for explanations, he expects bewildered looks.

 

“You just _had_ to get involved, didn't you.” Is what he gets instead. Howard sounds tired, sounds fond, sounds frustrated. It's like this isn't a surprise at all.

 

Randy shrugs and tries not to let this reaction throw him.

 

“I mean...I couldn't do nothing. I had to help. Oh right.” He turns back to the girl who's striding slightly behind them with her hands wrapped so tightly around her bag her knuckles have turned white.

 

“I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Randy, Randy Cunningham. This is Howard.”

 

Howard offers a nonchalant wave. He's acting like this is all normal, which either means he's more freaked than he's letting on, or Howard's mind is so consumed by something else it really isn't sinking in right now.

 

"Um..I'm Sera.” The girl says. Her shoulders are still trembling. “Thanks – by the way.”

 

“Hey, you almost had him.” Randy offers.

 

Her face darkens.

 

“I probably should've just given him the purse. I-I didn't know he had that knife. I thought...I had the pepper spray and I –”

 

She can't seem to go on.

 

“– thought you had it handled?” Randy finishes for her. She bristles, so he continues, “I get that. That was so me on my Government midterm. I was like, _this study guide is so wonk, I don't need studying. I am the super bruce cheese at politics._ Then I got the grades back the next week?”

 

He gives a weak laugh, willing to joke about it but also still a little sore.

 

“Spoiler alert,” He mock-whispers. “I did not have it.”

 

“I did.” Howard butts in. “I am the actual super bruce cheese. I aced it.”

 

Randy frowns at him.

 

“You _'b'_ -ced it. Barely.”

 

Sera giggles, maybe kinda in an unhinged way, and some of the tension drains from her shoulders.

 

It takes ten extra minutes to walk her to the police station nearby, and five minutes to make sure she's alright.

 

All in all, it ends up being four AM before Randy makes it to his dorm room. He's had more excitement in the last hour than he's had in eighteen whole years. He will _not_ be making it to his eight o'clock class today.

 

It's cool, though.

 

At least he's not bored anymore.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for small appearance of OC. She won't show up again, I promise. 
> 
> Also yes, I know community colleges never really have dorms, but I like the idea of Randy and Howard living on their own. 
> 
> Leave me a comment, tell me what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Assume that something brought the Secret Trio (aka Danny Phantom, Jake Long and The Ninja) together as a team in high school and they remained friends (if not close friends, simply because they all live in different states) ever since.

iii.

 

“Come back here!”

 

Randy doesn't glance up on his way from class. He's still reeling from an intense hour and a half lecture on the subtleties between Ancient Egyptian and Ancient Greek art.

He appreciates art, okay? That doesn't mean it's not still boring.

 

“You're not getting away from me this time!”

 

Seriously, does knowing that the greek _kouros_ revolutionized the art of sculpture actually help anyone in real life? When is he going to use his new-found knowledge of the Palette of Narmer and the canons it set for the entirety of Ancient Egyptian art? When?! 

Randy tells himself to forget about all this useless information as soon as possible. He needs the brain space for more important stuff. Like new movies. And new video games.

 

“I – oh crud! Dude, _duck_!”

 

A loud shout jerks him out of his thoughts. Suddenly a dark shape is hurtling towards him. Without his permission, Randy's body executes a lovely back-flip out of the way and lands in a crouch next to some bushes.

Randy didn't even know he knew _how_ to do a back-flip. See, now this is the kind of stuff he _should_ be filling his brain with. Useful things. Flips. Not art.

 

A flash of blinding blue light explodes across his vision. Someone cries out in a weird echoy way, like they're falling down a tunnel. As quickly as it appeared, the blue light vanishes, leaving Randy to blink orange spots from his eyes.

 

“What the juice?” He asks the only person he can see left in the courtyard. It just so happens to be a guy...floating?

 

“Oh, hey, it's _you_.” Floating guy all but sneers.

 

He wears a black and white jumpsuit, somehow making it gel with his neon green eyes and squint-worthy bright white hair. Even stranger than any of that – except maybe the floating – is that he seems to be putting the lid back on a soup can. Randy remembers his mom packing those things in his lunch with juice or chicken noodle soup somedays, back in middle school – but the floating dude is clearly beyond that age.

 

Randy squints against the glow the guy is emitting, trying to make sense of any of this.

 

"Are you a ghost?" He asks, nonchalant and good humored like he's asking if he's just been pranked. "Cause you don't look like a robot or a monster. So it's either ghost or....high tech cosplayer?"

 

The ghost looks offended at the suggestion.

 

"Is this you trying to be funny?"

 

"I don't think so." Randy frowns. "Usually when I'm trying to be funny, I get laughter. From friends. And myself. Why, you may ask? It's because I can recognize genius when I hear it."

 

"What?" The ghost shakes his head, confused. "Okay, shut up and listen for a minute. I haven't heard from you in almost a year! I know we don't always keep in touch and college is a busy time, but I was worried sick about you!"

 

Randy is bewildered. Why would a strange dead dude worry himself ill over him? Why is the guy talking like they know each other?

 

Is this just a crazy dude?

 

Abruptly, he thinks one thing clicks for him at least.

 

"Oh! So you're not always that pale then? It's the worry? Cause seriously bro, you need some sun –"

 

"Stop that!" The ghost snaps. Randy shuts his mouth.

 

The ghost sighs and puts a hand on his head, rubbing at his temple.

 

"Sorry. Look, I know you don't like me barging in on your scene –"

 

_My scene?_ Randy wonders, blinking. _Like Norrisville Community College campus?_

 

"–but I heard about a ghost sighting over here and you weren't answering your phone and I thought hey, what a perfect excuse to pop through a portal down to Norrisville and check on my favorite Norrisvillian, you know?"

 

Randy is certain he does _not_ know.

 

"And no, it's not like I didn't have my own stuff going on too this past year, and I really thought I wasn't mad at you – but now that I've found you here, you don't look so busy you can't send a text message my way once in a while! So maybe I _am_ mad!"

 

"What are you, my long-lost boyfriend?" Randy says. Seriously, did he have a forgotten boyfriend in high school who's come back to haunt him? Is that what this is?

 

The ghost throws his arms wide in exasperation.

 

"Why haven't you answered my texts?!"

 

"Maybe because I don't have your number?" Randy suggests helpfully.

 

“Of course you do! I've had the same number since high school!”

 

Randy thinks that sounds fishy.

 

“Why does a ghost need to call anyone anyway?”

 

That doesn't make sense. Unless...he has ghost friends...and _they_ all have cell phones...

 

Honestly, though, ghosts are  _dead_ , what could they possibly have to say to each other? 

 

“What? Why are you being so –” The ghost stops. He floats closer, zooming in to peer into Randy's eyes. It's too sudden for Randy. It feels like the cherry on top of the weirdest, most mind-boggling hour of his life, and he can't help but trip over himself to get away. He stumbles back and watches the ghost's brow furrow.

 

Thankfully, though, the ghost doesn't try to come closer again.

 

“Dude,” Randy says, hand over his jack-hammering heart. “Maybe warn a guy, next time?”

 

“Do you...don't you know who I am?” The ghost asks.

 

Randy thinks, somehow, he _should_ know who the ghost is. He thinks if he concentrates maybe he can bring the memory back into focus.

 

“You're...um...” Nothing is forthcoming. “Don't tell me – your name, starts with, uh...I wanna say a _T_?”

 

“Wow.” The ghost says quietly. His green eyes are wide. “You really don't know. Is this – did you do this to yourself? Or...did that book do this to you?”

 

Randy isn't listening. He's preoccupied with grasping, desperately, at any speck of memory left in his achingly empty mind. He thinks he catches it once or twice – but both times, anything certain slips through his fingers as easily as Norrisville silt.

 

“Maybe it's an _R..._ No, wait, I'm going back to _T_. Trevor? Tom? Timothy? ...No, none of those sound right.” Randy, despite the memory gaps, knows for sure that he'd never be friends with a _Tom_ or a _Timothy_.

 

“Just, just stop.”

 

Randy reluctantly lets it go. He knows that this will bug him later, though.

 

“So...I guess I don't know who you are.” He admits, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mind telling me?”

 

“....I-I'm Danny.” He says softly. “I think – I think I shouldn't have come here.”

 

_Danny_ is a very underwhelming name as far as scary ghost titles go. Not to mention that his current expression is that of a young hurt guy – it really drags down any scare-factor he might have.

 

“Maybe you shouldn't have come, I don't know. Sorry I forgot you.” Randy offers. He knows that's not enough. “Um...it's not you, though! It's totally me – I can't remember much of high school at all.”

 

Danny's brow is furrowed. He looks stricken. His emotions seem to tug his feet back down to earth, like he's grown heavier in the last five minutes.

 

“So you don't remember being –” He cuts himself off.

 

“Being...a high school student?” Randy tries to finish. It doesn't feel correct. It feels like there's a perfect word out there, one that would make him feel complete if he could just _reach it._

 

Danny shrugs at him, hands clenched at his sides.

 

“Yeah. Sure. Look, this – this was a mistake. I'm...I'm sorry to bother you.”

 

Randy's mind is insisting that this _wasn't_ a mistake, that this is a step towards remembering something critical, but somehow, he gets the feeling that Danny isn't going to say anything else. Danny isn't going to be the guy to push him over the edge of _memory_.

 

So, feeling like he's dropping a coin, something valuable, without truly realizing its worth – Randy lets this go.

 

“Hey, thanks for taking care of that ghost, or whatever. I'm sure Norrisville appreciates it!” He smiles. “And maybe now you can stop worrying about me, right?”

 

Danny's face says a definite _no_.

 

But still he smiles back and, slowly, melancholy-like, takes to the air again.

 

“Right. ...Bye, Randy.”

 

“Later, Danny.”

 

It takes a few minutes before it hits. When something terrible and wonderful crashes inside Randy's heart and his mind, he has to stumble to a bench, his legs suddenly losing every ounce of strength.

 

He stares unseeing at his hands for minutes, for an hour. He wonders if he's still breathing.

 

Gazing up at the sky, he feels, more than ever, the gaping hole inside his chest.

 

“...I never told him my name.”

 

_I really did know him_ . 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Randy chose Fine Art Appreciation as a class because he thought it would be easy ('I appreciate that and that and what was that professor I get an A?') but... I figured if it mildly sucked for me, it would definitely suck for him. 
> 
> Also, I don't think I did Danny justice, but I've never written him before so *shrugs* what can you do? 
> 
> He doesn't remember this, but Randy broke his phone a little before graduation, losing Jake and Danny's numbers (because seriously, no one memorizes phone numbers anymore) and just decided it was easier not to tell Danny and Jake what was going to happen. They all live in different states (I'm assuming) and they all have busy lives and villains to deal with so they often don't talk to each other for months. Randy, pre-mind wipe, just decided to enjoy the time he had left as the Ninja (and honestly, maybe just avoid the drama that telling his hero friends would involve). 
> 
> That wasn't great of him, but yeah. 
> 
> Leave me a comment, tell me what you think!!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

iv.

 

It's not an accident, is the thing.

 

Randy pretends like it is. He fools himself so well he really does jump when he sees it. He tells himself he's going for a walk, tells himself that he never meant to pass the old high school.

But that just doesn't happen.

All of Norrisville knows about the monsters and the robots, and while they can appear anywhere, at anytime, the chances of seeing one increases tenfold around the high school. It's a monster hot-spot. It's hella dangerous.

 

The only reason people still go there is because of the Ninja; everyone knows that the Ninja will protect them. He doesn't seem to manage to protect the school building  _itself,_ but still. 

 

The point is, no one who can help it goes anywhere near the high school.

 

That's why, despite how successfully Randy can lie to himself, despite how casually he can stroll down the sidewalk, he's never going to pull off this ' _I was just passing by this is an accident_ ' thing.

 

_No one_ just passes by. No one. 

 

Except Randy, today. And today, accident or not, Randy isn't disappointed.

 

Mid-stride, Randy catches sight of the Ninja soaring over the school. Ninja breaks his fall with some chained weapon ( _chain-sickle),_ landing in front of the school with a pout. Apparently, he's having a little trouble with his fight. 

Randy can't tell what the Ninja is fighting – the creature/robot is still inside the building – but he can hear faint shrieks of terror and he can feel the ground tremble with a great stomping weight.

This is what he wanted, though. The Ninja is thinking, hand on chin, mere feet in front of him, totally unaware of his audience.

 

Randy feels like a kid again. Excited. Nervous. Terrified.

 

“Hi, Ninja.” He says. Abruptly the Ninja leaps backwards, hand on his chest. He stares at Randy for a long moment, perfectly still.

 

_Ohmygosh_ , Randy thinks.  _I just scared the Ninja._

 

“Sorry.” He says, not sorry at all. “Didn't mean to sneak up on you there, Ninja.”

 

“No, no,” The Ninja says, his voice higher than Randy had imagined. “I was just...thinking. About – ninja...stuff.”

 

Yeah, sure.

 

Randy squints, taking in the only feature visible through the Ninja's suit – his eyes. They look like the night sky, dark and sparkling.

 

Mostly, they just look _young_. It just about takes Randy's breath away.

 

_This is an 800 year old ninja?_ He wonders. But...how? 

 

“Hey.” Ninja suddenly says, “Aren't youuuuu.....”

 

Does the Ninja recognize him too?

 

“Aren't I what?” Randy asks, curious and scared.

 

The Ninja pauses, long enough for the screams of kids to fill the space between them. Neither of them pays it any attention.

 

Randy feels on the verge of something. He feels like this is what Danny didn't say.

 

“...aren't you not a high school student? Yeah, that's what I was going to say.” The Ninja laughs, like it wasn't clear enough he's just making crap up. “What are you doing here? You don't go to Norrisville anymo....anyway.”

 

Damn. Danny won't say it, the Ninja won't say it...what even is  _'it_ '? 

 

Randy tries for a smile.

 

“I was just passing by. You know, out walking.”

 

Wow, he realizes just how stupid that really sounds when he says it out loud. How in the heck did he fool himself with this?

 

The Ninja gazes at him, those sparkly, too young eyes disbelieving.

 

“Out walking....near the high school?”

 

 

“Okay, not really.” Randy admits. “I kinda..I just wanted to meet you, you know?”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah. I'm not sure why. What's weird is that I went here,” Randy gestures to the school. “So I should've already met you, at least once, in my years of going here. Shouldn't I have?”

 

“Umm..”

 

“But I don't remember it. Howard, my friend, said we've met, but I don't remember that at all and I'm pretty sure he was lying. We didn't meet before, did we...?” Randy trails off, eyes suddenly caught on a square object peeking out of the Ninja's sash.

 

“Nope, nuh-uh. We've definitely never met before.”

 

But Randy isn't listening. He can't pull himself away from the book.

 

“Nomicon..” He whispers, having no idea why he says that. He's mesmerized.

 

It makes Ninja flinch.

 

“Oh, this?” He holds the book up, and whatever Randy is feeling intensifies. “This isn't, isn't a Nomicon. This is just a normal ninja book...wait, no! It's – um – just my ninja diary.”

 

The emotion swamping Randy's senses is old, possessive and familiar and  _old_ . It's like seeing his hand-me-downs on his younger cousins – like seeing something that belonged to him, years after it doesn't, anymore. 

 

It's not his but it feels like it  _used to be._

 

It feels like an aching, like a hunger for something he's outgrown.

 

Randy blinks himself back to reality. It takes strength not to try and reach out, not to try and just brush his fingers across the familiar black and red tome.

 

But it doesn't belong to him. He can feel that clearly.

 

“I should really...” The Ninja doesn't seem to know how to deal with this awkwardness. There should be a simple solution ( _smokebomb_ ), but...somehow he's not doing it?

 

Randy should – should help. He should look away from the book.

 

“It...” Randy swallows. “It was nice meeting you, Ninja.”

 

He means it, he really does, so why does his chest feel like it's ripping itself apart?

 

“Um...back at you –” Ninja cuts himself off.

 

_He knows my name too_ , Randy thinks, hand unconsciously rubbing at the painful spot over his heart.

 

Ninja isn't going to say it, though.

 

So Randy does.

 

“Randy. Randy Cunningham.”

 

“Yeah...er.”

 

“You should probably go stop that monster, now.” Randy reminds him, gently. He still feels a heavy weight dragging him down. He still feels like he _needs_ to grab that book. 

 

He doesn't.

 

“Oh, shoot!” The Ninja jumps. “I totally forgot about him! Gotta go!”

 

“Yeah.” Randy shakes his head. He smiles as the Ninja rushes back into the school, rushes back to save the day.

 

“Don't waste a moment.” He whispers to himself. Again, he doesn't know why.

 

This wasn't an accident, but the way it went wrong and the way it messes him up inside, it makes this afternoon feel like one. A bad accident.

He leaves the school in quiet contemplation, heading back to the dorms. He's not sure what he wanted to accomplish by coming here.

He's not sure that he shouldn't have stolen that book that belonged to the Ninja.

 

He's not sure what that makes him.

 

He is sure, though, suddenly, that he won't be digging for truth again anytime soon.

 

It hurts.

 

Holding a hand over his heart, he grips his phone in his other.

 

“...Hey, Howard.” He says quietly. “Yeah. Can we – can we go get burritos, or something?”

 

It hurts more than he ever thought it would.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don't want to shove a new ninja in anyone's face. I left him sorta blank so you could think of him as whatever you wanted. 
> 
> Randy's got reaal close to why he doesn't remember high school in this one. He also got real close to stealing from the current Ninja, which would be pretty dang bad. I think Randy with his memories of being the Ninja is a slightly different (better) person than Randy pre-Ninja (or sans memories of being the Ninja), but at heart he's still a good, selfless person who is going to do what's right. Most of the time.


	5. Chapter 5

v.

 

“Hey. Don't I know you?” Randy says, in an Academy Sports & Outdoors on one Saturday afternoon.

 

It's probably rude to just single out a stranger in a store. Randy doesn't really care. Howard might care, if he were here, but he isn't, so.

“Um. _Do_ you know me?” The stranger shoots back. He blinks at Randy curiously, maybe comfortably. He doesn't seem surprised at this confrontation.

 

Randy stops and thinks about where he could've seen this guy before. It's possible they went to high school together – does he remember any short Asian guys with spiky hair? Hmm.

It sounds plausible but it doesn't _feel_ right.

Why? Why doesn't it feel right? Why is he making a big deal about any of this? Randy wants to just shake this off, wants to leave it alone.

 

He can't.

 

Surely a young guy in a casual red jacket and cargo pants isn't _that_ memorable; surely there are hundreds of places around Norrisville Randy could've run into him before.

Randy concentrates hard and he gives himself a headache, trying desperately to _remember_. He's back to wanting that, wanting something again, even if it hurts. Eventually, though, he's forced to sigh and give it up. The whole thing remains as foggy as high school.

 

“Sorry, bro. Thought...thought you were someone else, I guess.” Randy wants to hide, suddenly, away from those calm, unjudging eyes. Shouldn't the guy be mad? Randy would be mad, he thinks, if some stranger snapped at him that they knew each other and then, two minutes later, admitted it was all a big mistake.

 

Instead, Shorty flashes him a smile. Randy swears for a second he sees fangs, but he blinks and they're gone.

 

“It's cool, man.” Shorty shrugs. “Happens to me all the time. I guess I just have one of those faces, you know?”

 

This feels like the point in the conversation where they wave at each other and part ways, mildly inconvenienced but not irritated. Strangely, Randy doesn't want to let this go.

 

“I'm Randy.” He pipes up. He wants this conversation to keep going. He wants _closure_ , he wants to squint at the guy's face some more in case the memory comes back.

 

He wants to know that out of all the things he knows he's forgotten, out of all the sticking points that he's tried to remember, he won't have given up on all of them. He needs to know he figured out at least _one_ of them. Not that he tried – that he actually _did it_.

 

“I'm Jake.” Jake seems amiable enough to continue talking. “I was just here...looking for a new skateboard.”

 

It doesn't sound like a lie. Jake even holds up the board as proof, the large monstrosity as red as his jacket.

But something happens inside – Randy's stomach clenches and it _feels_ like a lie.

Still though. He's confronted the poor guy enough for one day, he thinks guiltily.

 

“Yeah, I'm looking for a new pair of running shoes. Mine kinda got wonk – er, torn up.”

 

Somehow, they both end up walking towards the shoe aisle. Randy doesn't tell him to go away.

 

“So...are you a college student?” He asks.

 

“Yeah. Freshmen.”

 

Randy grins.

 

“Me too! Absolutely _no clue_ what I want to major in yet, but yeah. Freshmen at NCC.” He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Turns out, you don't actually have to know for the first year – you can tell the advisor any random major and just change it later.”

 

Jake laughs.

 

“Well I'm getting my bachelors in Folklore and Mythology, but yeah. Freshmen can get away with that.”

 

“Mythology?” Randy says, frowning. He knows he sounds incredulous but he can't help it. “Like unicorns and stuff? That's a real degree?”

 

Jake gives him a glance that's part offended, part disbelieving, and part..something else. Worried maybe?

 

“You know your town has literally _years_ of stories about monsters and an eight hundred year old ninja, right?” He asks, like Randy is slow.

 

Randy scoffs.

 

“Well, I mean. That's different. The Norrisville Ninja is _real_ , for starters.”

 

Somehow, that makes Jake flinch.

 

“You aren't...” He looks uncertain. “Are you messing with me right now?”

 

“Sorry, dude. Didn't mean to offend your unicorns or anything. I-I mean, what do I really know – they might be real.” Great, now Randy has shoobed Jake's feelings. How was he supposed to know Jake took it seriously?

...Maybe because the guy is getting an intensive degree in 'unicorns and stuff'? Crap, yeah, this is definitely on Randy.

 

“Sorry.” He says again. “I didn't mean to be insensitive.”

 

“No, it's – it's okay.”

 

Randy pulls down several boxes and tries shoes on in silence, Jake sitting on the bench opposite him.

 

“So...you really don't know what you wanna do?” Jake asks. It doesn't feel like an accusation. It feels like a peace offering.

 

“I dunno...” Randy tries to put it in words. “I – I know all the things that I _like_ to do. I like video games and I like running and I like movies with Grave Puncher in them. Lately, I think...I think I like fighting too.”

 

“Fighting? Like, real world fighting?” Jake cuts in, surprised. Randy doesn't blame him. He didn't think he'd be into fighting either.

 

"Yeah. And lately, I've been getting into books. Don't tell Howard, but I think the Japanese language is the cheese." Too late, Randy realizes that Jake doesn't know who Howard is, but that doesn't stop the guy from laughing anyway.

 

"Looks only slightly less terrible than Chinese to me." Jake says, eyes twinkling with good humor.

 

"Yeah?" Randy tilts his head.

 

Jake nods, lips curled up in a closed-mouth smile.

 

"My Gramps taught me all the good Chinese swears and I figured that's all I really needed to know. All those characters kinda freak me out."

 

Randy holds back a laugh.

 

"Man, that's nothing. Japanese has _three alphabets_."

 

Jake doesn't fight him on that. Randy takes the moment to slip on a different pair of shoes, squeezing his toes in their new environment.

 

Thinking more about what Jake asked, Randy feeling something building within him.

 

A small, delicate truth.

 

"I think...I wanna help people." Randy says quietly. He's never said this aloud to anyone, not even to Howard. Something about Jake being a stranger makes this easier to admit – Jake doesn't have any past Randy to compare this one to. He's less likely to laugh, or come up with a million examples to counteract Randy's admission.

Jake doesn't tell him _no, you don't really wanna help people,_ doesn't say, _how can_ you _, video game addict solid-C student, ditzy Randy Cunningham, ever help anyone?_

 

He just says,

 

"So why don't you?"

 

"I mean, I haven't found anywhere that offers that degree plan?" Randy shrugs.

 

Jake hmms. Not demeaning, just thoughtful.

 

"Maybe," His tone is gentle. "You should think more specifically. People help others everyday in all kinds of jobs. Even people without jobs can help or save lives, when they're in the right place and at the right time."

 

Randy is speechless. Well, yeah, of course anyone can help, but...anyone can help people? Anyone?

 

Even...even him?

 

"Randy, you don't even have to go to school if you don't want to."

 

No one has ever said that to him. No one ever said the words, _you absolutely have to go to college_ , either, but it had been strongly implied.

 

But...but what would he do? He's been in school one way or another for – for all his life. What do people do all day without it?

 

What are they supposed to do?

 

 _What can't they do?_ Another part of him wonders, and its excited.

 

"...do they fit?”

 

"Hmm?" Randy is still lost in new possibilities. The good and the bad.

 

Jake helpfully points down.

 

"The shoes. Do they fit?"

 

Randy glances at his feet. They are the black Nike's with vibrant red highlights. They'd called to him – something about the color scheme – and it'd felt a little like how Ninja's book had tugged at him.

 

That should've been enough reason to put them back – if the book is too old for him, surely the shoes don't belong to him either.

 

And yet...

 

“They do. They fit.”

 

He likes them. He doesn't want to let go, not this time. Not completely.

 

And maybe that's okay.

 

Something important settles in his chest at that realization, at that decision. He removes the shoes, puts them in their box, and clutches them tight, sending Jake a grin.

 

He's going to get them. And that's okay.

 

They stand together, at some imaginary signal, and Randy bites at his lip.

 

They can't stay at the store all day together. Jake probably has other places he needs to be. He might not actually wanna get that red skateboard.

 

But Randy doesn't want this to be goodbye – not forever.

 

Randy is rusty enough at this (the making friends business) that he almost just blurts out, _hey wanna be friends_. He's pretty sure that's not quite how it's supposed to go – at least, not after you've left kindergarten.

 

It scares him, a little. He's made one, _maybe_ two, _possibly_ three friends in the last eighteen years. He honestly doesn't remember how to do this.

 

Luckily, Jake does it for him.

 

“Hey, man, you wanna – exchange numbers? Maybe hang out some time?”

 

Randy lets out a breath of relief and grins.

 

“That would be the super bruce cheese.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Jake knew beforehand that Randy lost his memory, either by Danny giving him a heads up or some other magical means. Since Jake's dealt with amnesiac friends before (cough Rose cough) and since he knew a little bit what to expect, he wanted to pop down to Norisville see how Randy was doing.
> 
> Also I don't have anything specific for what Randy is going to do with his life, but I think he'd definitely end up somewhere that he could help people. I think he'd be a good self-defense teacher or something along those lines. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Leave me a comment!


	6. Chapter 6

+1 time he remembered

 

 

The day it all goes sideways is a Monday, which just figures.

 

Randy is walking to the store to buy some more milk and cereal, cause _someone_ (Howard) ate all of it last night and if anyone expects them to make it to their 8 am class tomorrow, they're gonna need some breakfast. Howard opted to stay at the dorm and beat all of Randy's Grave Puncher highscores rather than tag along. He's generous like that.

 

But all of that stops mattering the moment Randy turns a corner and hears a strangely familiar crash. He knows it's the sound of a person bouncing off a dumpster, but for the life of him can't figure out how he knows that noise by heart.

 

He ducks his head between two buildings, in the alley where the crash came from. He can't _not_.

 

And it's...

 

It's the Ninja.

 

The Ninja is on the ground.

 

Randy is intensely aware that he's alone in this back street (reminiscent of an alley sans most of the trash), alone except for a beat up, unconscious Ninja ten feet from where he's standing.

 

Randy isn't sure why that fact is important, but it is.

 

He feels that hunger creep in again. For a moment, he's weirded out by himself, thinking he's gazing at the dude's face – those way too young eyes, closed now, flash through Randy's mind as just one reason why that would be shnasty – but then it clicks.

 

He wants the mask. His fingers itch with the desire to just slip it off the Ninja's head.

 

There's not even a coherent thought behind it, like wanting to know the Ninja's identity.

 

Randy doesn't care who this Ninja is. He doesn't care that he'd look stupid and down-right villainous, tugging the mask off of the Ninja and putting it on himself, with no other part of the ninja outfit on to go with it.

 

He just – he wants this. He can't explain why.

 

He needs it. It's his – or it used to be his, he can't tell, it's that familiar but lost feeling rising up again – and it's so close.

 

There's no one around. No one to discourage or shame him out of it, no one to goad him or prod him into continuation.

 

Randy is alone. Trembling, he steps towards the guy.

 

He gets close enough to feel the fabric beneath his fingertips, soft yet thick. The Ninja's troubled exhales are warm on his arm, even through the mask.

He expects those dark eyes to fly open at any moment and freezes, crouched over the guy.

 

Seconds tick by.

 

Nothing happens.

 

Nothing at all.

 

It's just Randy about to steal something from a guy who's saved so many lives through so many years.

The hunger doesn't lessen any, but guilt and reason begin to trickle in again.

 

"What am I doing?" Randy whispers to himself. He drops his hand, lowers his head.

 

What, so he's lowered himself to stealing from the Ninja, Norisville's number one hero?

 

He wanted to help people.

 

This, he knows with absolute certainty, won't help anyone.

 

Randy leans back, suddenly weary.

He wants to cry.

Instead, he reaches out yet again, this time making contact with the Ninja's shoulder.

 

"Ninja. Ninja, you gotta wake up," he calls. "There's some monster out there that needs a good butt kicking."

 

All he gets is a groan.

 

"Come on, man. People need you to save them. Who's gonna do it if you don't?"

 

"Five more minutes." The Ninja mumbles at him.

 

Randy sighs, settling back on his heels. He doesn't feel any urgency to wake Ninja up quickly, as he doesn't hear screaming or buildings being torn to pieces. Ninja probably has a few minutes to spare.

Something else nags at Randy. Something just as interesting as the mask and not quite as potentially dangerous.

 

"Where's your Nomicon?" Randy wonders, unable to help it. It wouldn't be stealing if he just _borrowed_ it, right?

 

He isn't taking a part of the Ninja's suit and he doesn't want to keep the secret book of ninja knowledge _(how does he know what a nomicon is?),_ exactly, he just wants a peek. He just wants answers.

That can't be wrong, can it?

 

It doesn't feel as wrong as stealing the mask did. His morals don't shriek as persistently at him as he tugs the book out from underneath the ninja, out from the bright red sash tied around said Ninja's waist.

 

The book is warm. It has circles of red on the cover as well as a bright green Ninja's mask.

With his fingers skimming the sides, delicately brushing the spine, Randy is calm. He's calmer than he's felt in weeks.

In that moment, he is absolutely certain that this book in his hands will give him all the answers he needs. Somehow, whatever is inside is going to tell him where to go from here.

 

Technically, this book isn't his. Technically, this is probably stealing or snooping or something maybe just impolite, but Randy isn't sure he cares.

 

He's been so, so lost.

 

Now he can finally find himself again.

 

This, this is the way. It has to be.

 

Taking in a deep breath, Randy smiles, and opens the book.

 

* * *

 

 

It's like coming home.

 

Everything floods back the moment he's sucked inside the Nomicon – he remembers being chosen, fighting monsters and robots, befriending Danny and Jake, battling the sorcerer.

 

He remembers all of high school. No longer is it a distant fog, but every moment is clear, is accessible.

 

He remembers telling Howard about everything – though honestly, when doesn't he tell Howard everything? – and recalls even explaining, once, that after he graduated high school a new ninja would be chosen and that he would forget everything about his experience as the Ninja.

 

He recalls learning the final lesson once, by accident, and again, on purpose, with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face.

 

Being the Ninja was the best part of his life. Saving people, fighting evil, being the hero...

 

He'd loved every second of it.

 

And he'd given it up, because he had to, because that's what he was supposed to do.

 

He hadn't been bitter, he remembers that, just sad.

 

 

Time flew by so quickly.

 

 

But he also clearly remembers how lost and empty he'd felt _after_ high school, and wonders if by becoming the ninja he's become ruined for normal life, even if he couldn't remember _being_ the ninja.

 

He hadn't known what to do – he still doesn't.

 

He was right the entire time. None of this is his anymore; the Nomicon, the mask, the job, it's all some new kid's now.

It would be cruel – so so wrong – to take that experience from someone else.

Especially since he knows how it feels.

 

“It's nice to see you again, Nomicon.” He tells the book.

 

_**"Randy Cunningham. You are no longer the Ninja. You do not belong in here."** _

 

Maybe it's his imagination, but the Nomicon sounds a little exasperated, a little fond, just like it used to every time he wonked up.

 

“No, no, I know,” He reassures it. “I just – well the new Ninja was there and I saw you and I just opened the Nomicon up and I didn't know I didn't belong here at the _time_ because I'd forgotten but – ”

 

Scrolls and drawings around him start to grow and flash red with a warning.

 

Still, it doesn't seem mean. It feels like the Nomicon saying, _Randy, please just get to your point_.

 

He swallows, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

 

“I'm not the Ninja anymore.” He says. “But...do I _have_ to forget? Can't I – can't I remember this time? Please?”

 

He's always been one of the more unconventional Ninjas. Maybe...maybe...he dares to hope that the Nomicon will let him keep this.

 

Nomicon doesn't say no. It doesn't say yes.

 

It shows him several memories, in the shape of doodles, of Mac Antfee refusing to let go and refusing to move on.

 

 ** _The memory of the power you can no longer possess will corrupt you._** It writes on a scroll for him. It's a tiny slice of wisdom like the book used to dole out for him back when he was the Ninja.

 

Even this is nostalgic, leaving a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

 

“I don't...I won't get in the new Ninja's way.” Randy says. He tries to say he doesn't want to be the Ninja anymore, but it would be a big fat lie and the Nomicon would know it.

 

“I won't even talk to him ever again. Please I...” He knows this isn't going to work, but he still wants to try, wants to hold on to this best version of himself for as long as he can.

“I can't be the Ninja again. It's not for me, anymore. But – but that was the best part of my life. It changed me. I'm a better person for it. I'm a better person because of _you_. Is it so wrong to want to stay that way?”

 

The Nomicon is silent, no words or voices present. What is it supposed to say? What can it say that Randy doesn't know, that he hasn't heard a hundred times already?

 

It was a long shot. It was hopeless. He knew that.

 

Randy sighs, and wipes at his wet eyes.

 

“You're right. You're _right_.” He says around a lump in his throat. “It would probably drive me crazy, just like Mac Antfee, to remember all the cool junk I could do as the Ninja and never be able to do it again. I just...I've been really lost, these past few months. I knew something was missing, even through the mind-wipe. I guess...”

 

He closes his eyes and shrugs, trying for a smile.

 

“I guess it's something I'll just have to learn live with. Okay, Nomicon. Okay. I'm ready to...forget again.”

 

It's a lie, but he's as ready as he'll ever be. Randy isn't going to fight the Nomicon, not anymore.

 

 

He's desperate, but he understands.

 

 

 

Suddenly the Nomicon's many voices boom around him,

 

 **“** _**The Ninja will keep an eye on you, Randy Cunningham. Any sign of corruption and he will bring you back here.”** _

 

Randy can't breathe. Does that mean –

 

Is the Nomicon saying –

 

The world swirls and he falls and falls, a crazy laugh bubbling from his lips.

 

Suddenly his eyes are open and he's on the ground of an alleyway, a book snapping shut in front of his face. There's a wrapper stuck to his sleeve and drool all down his chin.

 

But he still _remembers_.

 

“What the juice.” He says. “What. The. _Juice_.”

 

The new Ninja kid is still unconscious in front of him, which is good for Randy and probably bad for the whatever part of Norrisville is getting trashed by monsters right now.

 

Randy can't help but notice all the differences between his old suit and this new one and his fingers are still itching to grab that mask, but he won't.

 

Memoryless!Randy wouldn't grab it and neither would he.

 

Instead he laughs again, just because he feels like it.

He _remembers_.

 

The first thing he does is kneel beside the (gotta be Ninth grade, right?) Ninja and slap his face a couple times, shouting,

 

“Wake up!”

 

Again and again.

 

Finally the Ninja blinks and sits up and Randy wonders, leaning back, where this one's Howard is. Surely this guy has friends, right? Surely he's not doing this alone?

 

“You passed out, Ninja.” He tells him, trying not to laugh again.

 

“Wait..what?”

 

“A monster must've kicked your butt.” Randy reminds himself of his own early days, where monsters kicked _his_ butt, and he feels a little more empathy trickle in.

 

“Oh, shoot, really? Aw man, I need to – “ Ninja rolls backwards into standing, which is just showing off. “I need to go – ”

 

He starts twirling one end of his scarf (and two dangling ends of an already mildly impractical scarf seems like something his enemies could really use against him in battle, but Randy supposes he didn't pick the outfit) and Randy says,

 

“Wait!” And he shoves the black-and-white book into Ninja's chest. “Don't forget your secret ninja diary, dude.”

 

Ninja's eyes are wide. He looks from the book to Randy and back again.

 

“Uh...t-thanks?”

 

This kid is gonna have the best four years of his life, Randy thinks. It's not bitter.

 

It makes him genuinely smile.

 

“Thank you, Ninja. Now go save the day.”

 

The Ninja looks at him with suspicion, but he does go.

 

Randy watches him run along rooftops and swing away for as long as he can.

 

 

Then he dusts himself off, and reminds himself that cereal ain't gonna buy itself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading!! I know I didn't wrap everything up. I might write another 5+1 about Randy and friends, and what he does with his life now that he remembers. but I dunno. 
> 
> What do you think? Leave me a comment, tell me if you liked it!


End file.
